An Unwelcome Visit
by windowpane
Summary: Chauvelin makes an unexpected and thoroughly rude return to Maguerite's life as she is preparing for her next show. While she convinces herself to reject him, she knows this visit is just what she's wanted. Set before original plot-line and musical-based.


The little theater was in the typical chaos before each opening of the show. With only a quarter of an hour left before the rising of the curtain, the staff and performers intermingled in a flurry of preparation and adrenaline. A broken hem, a cracked prop, a flat wig or a similar petty inconsistency was heightened by panic. It was as if one was to be judged by God himself, not a rabble of adoring commoners, who praised every sight and sound with undying relish, regardless of any imperfections. This particular troupe consisted of great artists from all corners of the country, each having before served in theaters where powdered and painted aristocrats flapped their silk fans.

In the time were revolution lay dormant and comfortable in of Lady Liberty, all working men and women began to unite in a single cause and those of the Third Estate felt a great deal of loyalty to their party. Artists who had hailed from the common class now preferred the company of their own kind instead of the friendship of the Second Estate. While some still accepted aristo gold, most had forsaken the palace-like theaters for those of wood and nails where the audience consisted of the true people of France. Not to mention, the rumors of a violent uprising had, of course, enflamed a strong proletarian patriotism in their once aristocratic hearts, but for now all was still well (from what most could tell), and this particular little theatre existed in a country of its own.

As the noise of the troupe ravaged on in the corridors, Marguerite St. Just added the finishing touches to her greasepaint in her private dressing room. The quaint room was given to her despite her protests (as it seemed highly against their purpose) and included a full mirrored vanity, a small overstuffed sofa, a worn but elegant Persian rug, a dressing screen, and a sturdy wooden chest to store a few belongings. All agreed that Marguerite deserved such a luxury for her work on stage and off; in addition to being their current Prima Donna, Marguerite was one of the originators of the troupe and was heavily involved in political stirrings when she wasn't working at the theater. Certainly, the woman who'd quit the Comedie Francais to stimulate, educate, and inflame the true French people deserved, at the very least, a small space to herself.

Though at first it was awkward, Marguerite quickly became grateful for the gift, especially on days like this when the theater's energy was at its peak. Instead of being among the hectic movement, she was nestled safely inside her dressing room where the surging noise was reduced to a muffled murmur on the other side her closed door. As she applied a dark line of kohl under her eye, the young actress was exquisitely happy to be where she was, doing what she loved. Nothing, it seemed, could disturb her state of tranquil euphoria, that is, until the door of her room opened and closed without a single knock, allowing an unwelcome visitor and a fragment of the tense noise to seep into her serene haven.

So agitated by the unannounced guest, Marguerite did not even look away from the vanity to address whomever rudely intruded upon her solitude. However, since it was not in her nature to be impolite, Marguerite maintained cover of courtesy which conveyed her discontent at the guest's intrusion and her desire to be alone. "I'm rather busy at the moment," She said, still applying the kohl to her eyes and staring at her reflection in the mirror. "Do come back after the gala and I will gladly speak to you then." With that, she expected the visitor's retreat, but she heard no such closing and opening of the door as was heard upon his entrance, only a smooth baritone voice with which she was very familiar.

"Mademoiselle would agree that the information I've brought her is exceedingly urgent." Paul Chauvelin replied with sarcastic formal protocol, standing near the door, out of view of her mirror. The two had met during the destruction of the Bastille and had become close compatriots ever since. In fact, Marguerite's most prominent memories of the revolution were those that she had spent with Chauvelin, either at his apartment or at her home at one moment arguing furiously over politics, then drafting up pamphlets the next. Their dreams, which had begun with each other, were swiftly materializing, but had done so individually. Marguerite had not seen Paul for months and she yearned to tell him of her recent success and to hear of his. Resisting the urge to jump up and embrace him in excitement enflamed by his overdue return, Margeurite turned and placed her chin coquettishly on the back of her chair and greeted him with a polite smile.

"What have you brought me then, Citoyen Chauvelin?" She said, watching him move from the door to her chair and toss a thick sheaf of paper on the vanity. Marguerite turned back toward the mirror and picked up the document. Entitled, _Adresse à la nation artésienne_, she quickly recognized it as a manuscript for a speech.

"The author of this speech is my employer, and has been for quite some time now," Chauvelin began as stood beside Marguerite's chair and watched her skim through the manuscript. A quick glance in the mirror from behind the pages allowed her to take him in; the strong lines of his face and body, the dark eyes and hair, remained as she had remembered them, only now no longer a worn memory. "He is growing more popular among the supporters of the Republic, perhaps you have heard of him?" Paul asked, quite arrogantly. " His name is Robespierre." Standing behind her, his sharp green eyes watched in satisfaction as Margurite quickly leafed through the pages. The burning lamps which populated her dressing table highlighted her every feature and he could not help but admire the gracious view of her smooth back.

Heard of him? Of course she had! The young lawyer and writer had made quite and impression on the intellectual societies of Arras, where Marguerite was also well known and still received news from her colleges located there. As she read more of the speech, she had no doubt that it would greatly effect the elections of the newly created Estates General, maybe even earning Robespierre a better chance of being elected himself. In the months that they had not seen each other, Paul had fiercely installed himself into the heart of the Revolution, putting Marguerite's own efforts in a much dimmer light. Not letting her emotions get the best of her, she brushed away her feelings of inadequacy and jealously briskly, transforming them into genuine happiness for him.

"This is bloody brilliant." Marguerite said as she closed the manuscript and set it on the vanity. "It gives me joy to see your determination rewarding you so generously."

"And yours?" He inquired, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"- are humbled by the stories of your great success." She answered him quickly, looking away from his gaze. It was only correct to assume that amid the intensity of his work, there had been no time to visit an old friend. Solid lines of commitment had never been established in their relationship. However, seeing as how she had neglected him as well, it was unfair to be bitter. Feeling disgustingly immature, Marguerite relocated her focus on the point that he was here now, not that he'd been gone for so long.

"No contribution to the Republic is unworthy of description." Chavelin said, imploring her to reveal to him what she'd been doing for the past few months. "Or do you often deny old friends that simple pleasure?"

Marguerite smiled, realizing how much she missed his teasing sarcasm, as no one could ever quite match up with her own. "No, unless they enter my chambers without first knocking. But since you do seem interested, I suppose I'll tell you." She smiled then continued. "Along with maintaining political activity, I've been working at this theater. Tonight's production is a blatant attack on the Clergy, Moliere's _Tartuffe_."

"I see…" Paul responded. "The great Marguerite St. Just sacrifices much for the Republic." This time, his sarcasm was serious.

In the past, Paul was constantly critical of the social ascent that came with Marguerite's acting career. She did not know what she'd said or done to provoke the entirely inappropriate comment and realized that she had not missed him or his sarcasm as much she thought. Rising from the vanity she turned to him, making no effort to mask her offense. "Though this reunion has been pleasant, the show is starting momentarily, so I must bid you adieu, Citoyen."

Paul noticed her elegant face flush with anger. "I see I have upset the Lady Prima Donna." Paul said mockingly, unconcerned. With only the back of the chair separating her from him, he appraised her possessively and blatantly, his gaze devouring the entire length of her body. A smack-worthy grin formed and intensified Marguerite's irritation, which he continued to ignore. Easily kicking the chair aside, he pushed Marguerite onto the vanity in a searing kiss.

As his lips moved to the crook of her neck, she titled her head against the cold surface mirror. His hands, strong and forceful, moved up her thighs and pushed up her skirts, causing her to grip on to the edge of the table and suppress the scream she had meant to use to alert anyone outside the room. "I've missed you, Marguerite." Paul said against her skin, sending chills through out her entire body. A hand moved inside of her thigh as one remained holding her hip, causing a sharp intake of breath which was soon muffled with a kiss. The welcome penetration of intertwining tongues and the movement of his hands, which by now had progressed deeper between her thighs, were far too fulfilling; did he think that he could simply barge in and take what he wanted of her, throwing aside the injustice of a six-month abandonment? By God if she'd play the willing whore this time! With difficulty, she pushed him away, using the moment of his frustration at her resistance to slip out of his embrace.

"The show will be spectacular tonight." She said angrily as she crossed the room to the dressing screen to snatch the robe draped on it. Before he could make anymore beast-like advances, Marguerite moved out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

In the wardrobe room, Marguerite stood stiffly as Joséphine the head costumer tied the strings of Marguerite's corset. Usually, before show, the young actress was bubbly and chatty, quite unfocused for an actress of her reputation, as Joséphine often thought, and the change was quite dramatic. "What is the matter, my dear?" She asked Marguerite, who answered bitterly, in a near snarl, "Just a surprise visit from a friend who should have never _visited_."


End file.
